


The Bones of What You Believe

by manningcan



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manningcan/pseuds/manningcan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly Rachel introspection after 1x10. Suggestions of Propunk, not too heavily implied though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bones of What You Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sharkodactyl, just a very short little piece that is very Rachel centric, because who doesn't love the Duncan?

Control, Rachel mused as she cast a curious glance over the busy cityscape, divides very simply into two distinct categories. There are the people who command control with a concrete grasp, who are sometimes born into these positions and handed power wrapped up neatly on a silver platter, and other times they claim it for themselves. But Rachel understood that when it came down to it, it wasn’t ever important  _how_ you obtain power and control, it’s how you  _exert_ it.

_Up yours, Proclone._ When the email arrived, Rachel measured the weight of each of Sarah’s words and felt them fall heavily to the pit of her stomach.

_No._

She exhaled slowly through her nose.

_Control._

Alison was secured under her thumb, and by misleading her into a false sense of security (Rachel admires the deliciously cunning ploy regarding the contract) everything was set to run smoothly. And although Cosima’s decision was still pending, her own contract was designed to specifically appeal to her budding interest in their own biology. Even if Rachel doesn’t understand Aldous’ fascination with the girl, nor does she see anything  _special_ about her, it’s one less problem to look after.

As for Sarah….Rachel’s heart thudded, but once her phone was in her hand and she entered the numbers she needed promptly, it eased. One ring, pause, two rings…. she kept her words steady (inhale,  _you know what to do,_ exhale, because Rachel knows how to exert control and how to make her words cut like glass). That’s when the anger inside her began to ebb at a steady, pulsing pace, and refused to heel.

She stood by the towering window of her office and overlooked the cars and people passing by from behind that glass wall. The darkening sky showed signs of a storm brewing and cast a gloom that extended into Rachel’s office. More than once, she caught sight of her reflection, all angular lines and geometrical shapes without a hair out of place. A wave of triumph swelled in Rachel’s chest, as, to her, it was almost impossible to see even the faintest outline of Sarah in her own figure and character (she  _refused_ to see the silhouette of that woman and she tapped her foot against the floor.) She would have gone as far as to recognise and pin point the exact differences in their faces, like the way Sarah’s jaw was slack and how the tension in her face settled along her brow line (her own face doesn’t show tension or slack - it’s a mask cast out of steel, but her insides were boiling, bubbling. She narrowed her eyes, and instead began scrutinising the traffic.)

Her phone ringed and pierced her thoughts. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor filled the empty space as she retreated back to her desk. She brushed aside the scarce notes entitled ‘ _Sarah Manning_ ' (ebbing giving way to throbbing) and answered the phone with a bleep.

'Rachel Duncan speaking.' Though her attention was drawn back to Sarah's notes, she maintained an expectant tone; she knew who was calling, and they knew exactly what she wanted to hear. They wouldn't have  _dared_ to call with anything less.

'It's done. We have Kira Manning, as well as Mrs. Sadler.' Rachel measured the weight of each of his words, peered at her reflection in the glass table from under her eyelashes, and hummed acknowledgedly.

'And?' she drawled (but the anger won't subdue, no, not yet.) followed by hesitation on the other side of the phone.

'There were complications-' (ebbing,  _twisting_ ) ‘-namely concerning the foster mother, but…. the child is safe. Unharmed.’

A pause. Rachel exhaled slowly through her nose.

'Good.'

The feeling of control reaffirmed itself in her chest, and her fingers danced on the edges of the notes which, though they had only been recently formed, had already been suggestive of a foreboding problem (but problems are easily taken care of when the end justifies the means.)

'That will be all.' She hung up with another click.

The world around her had been quiet, save for the inconsistent beeping of Toronto traffic, but with Sarah’s unarticulatedrejection came a buzzing noise. Sarah’s  _fuck you_ (an anger that doesn’t ebb, it roars like an animal in a cage) became a hitch in their progress, something that, in Rachel’s terms, equated to a disruption. Her painted expression stilled even colder in her face at the thought. But Rachel was always prepared for disruption (because she is  _in control_ ).

It made her think of the other category of control, the one that is so often comprised of those who are set to fall victim to those belonging in the first (like Sarah Manning.) For these people, Rachel had learned from experience, the control that they believe the hold is fabricated – it is merely an illusion constructed by the internal forces that drive even their most simplest actions. A powerful thing, indeed, but ultimately unable to accomplish anything but disruption and is only fit to be crushed (like Sarah Manning).

Oh, and if there is anybody who will wield their power in order to tear apart this falsity and gain control over something, someone ( _Sarah Manning_ ), it’s Rachel Duncan.

Finding a way to squash out Sarah Manning had been simple. Rachel noted the way her guard slipped and her face softened (hostility turned to shock) at the mention of Kira. A weapon. Leverage. It would be easy to take what was, in fact, rightfully _theirs_. Sarah would put up a fight, that was certain, but nonetheless what truly mattered was that  _Rachel was in control. Rachel had power over Sarah Manning._

It’s tragic, really. And it was then that Rachel allowed something resembling the shadow of a smile to be carved on her face.


End file.
